IN WHICH MOTHER MICHEL SEARCHES FOR HER CAT.
everal days passed in painful expectation; but the cat, like General Marlborough, did not come back. The despair of Madame de la Grenouillère was sincere, profound, and silent,—all the more intense because it was suppressed. She continually pictured to herself the charming ways of Moumouth, his natural goodness, his superior intelligence. No animal had ever displayed to her so many brilliant qualities; not one of her previous favorites had ever caused her such bitter regrets.
Generous in her misfortune, she did not reproach Mother Michel; on the contrary, the Countess sought to comfort that poor woman, who had given herself up wholly to grief. The Countess said to her one night:—
"What can you do against an irresistible calamity? The wisdom of man consists not in struggling with unhappiness, but in submitting himself to the will of Heaven."
"I am of your opinion," replied Mother Michel. "If I believed, like you, in the death of Moumouth, I would resign myself without a murmur. But I have the idea that he still lives; I picture him running through the streets, the victim of ill treatment, with saucepans, may be"—
"Go to, Mother Michel, you deceive yourself; Moumouth is dead, otherwise he would have come back to us."
"Something tells me that he is still in this world, and if Madame the Countess wishes to have tidings of him, she has only to address herself"—
"To whom?"
"To our neighbor, Madame Bradamor, that celebrated fortune-teller, who predicts the future, removes freckles, reads in the Book of Destinies, and charms away the toothache."
"Fie, Mother Michel! how can you, a sensible woman, have any confidence in the juggling of an adventuress?"
"But, madame, I am not alone; the most distinguished people go to Madame Bradamor; she is more learned and less dear than her rivals, and asks only ten crowns to make you behold the devil Astaroth."
"Enough, for pity’s sake!" responded the Countess, dryly.
Mother Michel remained silent; but she had made up her mind, and, the first time she had a moment of liberty, she ran to the house of the necromancer.
The fortune-teller occupied a spacious apartment richly furnished, for she gained a great deal of money by cheating the public. Her consultation-room was draped with hangings of black velvet sprinkled with gilt stars; upon a square table, in the centre of the chamber, stood painted tin obelisks, jars of electricity, retorts, and divers mathematical instruments, of whose uses the pretended sorceress was quite ignorant, but which she had placed there in order to impose on the weak-minded persons who came to consult her.
She at first showed some embarrassment on beholding Mother Michel; however, after having closed a glass door which communicated with the other apartments, she returned to salute her new client, and said in a solemn tone:—
"What is your desire?"
"To question the present, the past, and the future."
"I am the very one to satisfy you," replied Madame Bradamor; "but what you demand is very difficult, and will cost you three crowns."
"There they are; I give them to you with all my heart."
Madame Bradamor, full of regret that she had not insisted on having more, pocketed the money, and began in these terms:—
"What is the date of your birth?"
"The 24th of May, 1698."
"What are the initials of your name and the first letter of the place in which you were born?"
Mother Michel pays Three Crowns.
"A, R, M, N, L, S."
Madame Michel was named Anastasie Ravegot; the widow, since twelve years, of François Michel, in life inspector of butter in the Paris markets; she was born in Noisy-le-Sec.
"What is your favorite flower?"
"The Jerusalem artichoke."
After these customary questions, the fortune-teller examined some coffee-grounds poured into a saucer, and said:—
"Phaldarus, the genie of things unknown, informs me that you are in search of a being very dear to you."
Mother Michel bounded in her chair with surprise.
Madame Bradamor continued: "This being is not a man; it is a quadruped—either a dog or a cat. Ariel, spirit celestial, reveals to me that it is a cat."
Mother Michel was more and more impressed; without giving her time to recover herself, the fortune-teller took a pack of cards, shuffled them, cut them three times, then disposed them in a systematic order on the table, and said gravely:—
"Your cat is the knave of clubs; let us see what happens to him. One, two, three, four; ten of spades! He is a wanderer, he has a passion for travel, he sets out at night to see the curiosities of Paris. One, two, three, four; the queen of spades! It is a woman who manufactures ermine fur out of cat-skin. One, two, three, four; the knave of spades! It is a rag-picker. One, two, three, four; the king of spades! It is a restaurant-keeper. The falling together of these three persons alarms me. One, two, three, four,—clubs! One, two, three, four,—clubs again! One, two, three, four,—always clubs. Your cat would bring money to these three persons: the rag-picker wishes to kill him in order to sell the skin to the furrier, and the body to the restaurant-keeper, who will serve it up to his customers as stewed rabbit. Will the cat be able to resist his persecutors. One, two, three, four; seven of spades! It is all over, madame; your cat no longer exists!"
The Fortune-teller consults her Cards.
"They have eaten him, the cannibals!" cried Mother Michel, sinking back, and she fancied she heard a plaintive miau, the last agonized cry of Moumouth. But it was not an illusion; a cat had miaued, and was still miauing in the next chamber. Suddenly a pane of glass in the door described was shivered to atoms, and Moumouth in person tumbled at the feet of Mother Michel.
Moumouth appears.
From the top of a wardrobe he had perceived his affectionate guardian; he had called to her several times, and as she did not answer him, he had thrown himself, in his desperation, against the glass door, through which he had broken a passage.
"My cat was with you!" said Mother Michel; "you have stolen him! My mistress is powerful; my mistress is the Countess Yolande de la Grenouillère; she will have you chastised as you deserve to be!"
While making these threats Mother Michel placed Moumouth under her arm, and prepared to depart. Madame Bradamor stopped her, saying:—
"Do not ruin me, I conjure you! I have not stolen your cat!"
"How is it in your house, then?"
"I have it from a little boy named Faribole; he got this cat for me, which I have long desired to have, on account of his supernatural shape and appearance, to figure in my cabalistic conjurations. This is the truth, the whole truth. I beg of you that your mistress will not disturb me."
"Do not ruin me, I conjure you!"
"Madame the Countess will act as she thinks proper," responded Mother Michel, haughtily; and she vanished with her cat.
She made but one step from the house of Madame Bradamor to that of Madame de la Grenouillère; one would have said that Mother Michel had on the seven-league boots of little Tom Thumb. She did not linger in the parlor, when she arrived out of breath and unable to speak a word, but carried Moumouth straight to the Countess.
On recognizing the animal, the Countess gave so loud a cry of joy that it was heard as far as the Place de la Carrousel.
Lustucru assisted at this touching scene. At the sight of the cat he was so dumbfounded that his reason wavered for a moment. He imagined that the cat, so many times saved, was a fantastic being, capable of speaking, like the beasts in the fairy-tales, and he said to himself with a shiver: "I am lost! Moumouth is going to denounce me!"
Lustucru assisted at this touching Scene.